Repulsive
by TheLastDragonLord
Summary: "They're repulsive! The real Fargo would know that!" Taggart and Fargo go out drinking one night to complain about Jo and Zane's relationship and mourn their lost love. Not slash.


A/N: PLEASE READ! I'll be quick, I promise!  
This story was inspired by Taggart's line in 'A Night at GD' (the season two finale). The way he said "the _real_ Fargo would know that" sounded like he knew that for a fact, like he'd heard Fargo say it before. So I figured 'maybe they complain to each other? They both had a thing for Jo before...' And voila! Out popped this little one-shot.

Disclaimer: I don't own Eureka, nor do I own the characters. I'm just messing with them is all.

Repulsive

Cafe Diem sat peacefully quiet in the darkness of that Saturday night. The dinner rush had been long over with and there were fewer than five people still there that weren't staff. The tables had been wiped down, the trash emptied. Even the street outside was nearly deserted. Only a few stragglers remained out, running errands or just wandering in the moonlight. Most of the town was already dozing in their own beds. It was 11:15 PM and even Vincent looked ready to leave the restaurant. But two customers remained in the far corner booth - Taggart and Fargo.

Two empty bottles of beer sat on the table between them and they weren't the first of the night. Both men were more than tipsy and both wore similar expressions of wistful sadness. Fargo held his head in both hands and Taggart stared at the far wall.

"I think I loved her," mumbled Fargo to the table.

Taggart shook his head and looked gloomily at his friend. "You didn't love her, mate. She never gave you the chance to love her." Fargo's face fell even more, but he nodded at his companion's words. "She just dragged you along for a bit, built up your hope, then one day, poof!" The Australian snapped his fingers. "She weren't there anymore. Just like a woman..."

Fargo turned to him with a resentful glare. "I suppose _you_ loved her, then?" he slurred.

"Course _I_ loved her!" Taggart insisted. "I've been there. I know what love feels like, mate, and that was it! You're just a kid. What do you know about love?"

From across the restaurant, Vincent called, "Five more minutes, guys! Then you've got to go!" Taggart waved him off impatiently.

Fargo leaned back against the vinyl booth seat and remained quiet for a moment. He gave a small smile. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Taggart hummed in agreement. "Yeah, she is. Beautiful and deadly. Like the Australian outback." He smiled reminiscently and rested his chin on one hand.

Fargo nodded. "I've never been there."

They sat in companionable silence again and Fargo took a swig of his beer bottle before realizing it was empty. He plunked it back down on the table with a sigh and pushed up his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"But now she's with that _Zane_ deadhead..." Taggart spat out the name with contempt.

"I really hate that guy," mumbled Fargo sadly. "He's gross," Fargo's advanced vocabulary had a tendency to shrink when he was inebriated, but sober he could think up hundreds of words to describe Zane: aggravating, repulsive, vexatious, abhorrent, loathsome, undesirable, conceited, the list went on for miles. But under the circumstances, his alcohol-muddled brain was doing the best it could, which was _gross_.

"He doesn't deserve her," moaned Taggart, rubbing his nearly-bald head.

"He doesn't love her," agreed his friend with another mournful sigh.

Vincent then approached the table, hands on his hips, wearing an apron decorated with a variety of minute ice cream cones. He gave them a pitying but stern look. "It's way past closing, you two. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Go home."

Taggart clambered up drunkenly, towering over the restaurateur, who stood his ground. "Alright, alright, don't get off your bike! We're going!" Vincent nodded and stepped aside.

"Come on, mate. Let's go," Taggart pulled up the intoxicated Fargo and guided him to the door. Together, they wobbled across the room and out into the cool night air. Fargo couldn't hold his liquor as well as Taggart and stumbled several times.

"I love Jo," muttered the scientist. "I love her,"

"I know you do, Fargo," soothed Taggart, uncharacteristically gentle. "I know. So do I."

Please review and tell me how I did!


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